


Moonfairy's Scenes and Drabbles

by moonfairy13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #FFspringfest2021, Alternate Universe, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, FairySafe, Fred Weasley Lives, One Big Happy Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soulmates, Weasley Family-centric (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfairy13/pseuds/moonfairy13
Summary: This is a collection of random drabbles, mostly involving Hermione and the older Weasley boys. Almost all were originally written to amuse myself and others in FB groups, and I've posted them for those who enjoy tiny scenes. To save you asking, I have no plans to expand any of these (though I did also say that about the one-shot which is now a 400k+ word saga, so I'm clearly not to be trusted on that... 😆)Hope you enjoy. I'm a real-life author who does this for fun. I have zero interest in critical input, so save it for those who will use it, but happy comments are always welcome.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 292
Kudos: 279





	1. Charlie/Hermione, The electric toothbrush

Four and a half hours after Hermione unpacks her bag in Charlie’s cabin, he spots the electric toothbrush that her dentist parents insist that she uses twice a day. Wizards clean their teeth by magic, so he’s never even seen a manual toothbrush before, and picks it up. The buzzing that begins when he presses the little button makes him jump and pull his wand, but soon a slow smile spreads across his face as he makes the connection between the intense vibration and Hermione’s confession, just a few weeks previously, that she owns a vibrator. Which, she promised, she will let him use on her sometime.

Later that evening, Charlie surprises her with a cuddle from behind. Whispering sexily into her ear, he persuades her onto the bed, out of her clothes and into a blindfold made from his old school tie. He strokes her for a while, eases her legs apart and then she feels something hard inching into her most secret place. Charlie presses the magic button... 

Three seconds later, Hermione’s orgasm hits her like the Hogwarts Express. She shoots backwards on the bed with a shriek, pulling off the blindfold.

“Charlie Weasley! That is NOT what you think it is!”

Charlie is looking at the still-buzzing toothbrush in surprise. He’s torn between guilt for giving Hermione a nasty shock, wonder at how on earth the thing can move as fast as it does and jealousy that the item could bring Hermione off about seventeen times faster than his tongue. (And Charlie Weasley has a good tongue.)

He allows her to press the button that silences it, and she allows him to apologise with a cuddle. But, while ninety-nine per cent of his focus that evening is on making Hermione happy in a slower, less shocking way, a part of his mind is working overtime. Perhaps he can find a way to slow it down enough to be pleasurable and go into business with the twins on this…


	2. Hermione/George, The hotel room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt in Weasleys, Witches and Writers FB group: Character A only wanted to relax for a weekend away from it all. Of course, Character A never anticipated having to share her hotel room with Character B.

Hermione Granger only wanted to relax for a weekend away from it all. Of course, Hermione never anticipated having to share her hotel room with George Weasley. And a cat carrier full of pygmy puffs. 

She wasn’t displeased to see the younger of the Weasley twins. He had been working mostly alone while Fred recovered from his war injury. Molly had installed Fred on the living room sofa, leaving George to floo back and forth between The Burrow and their shop while Fred was stuffed with biscuits and mashed potato. Inexplicably, their mother seemed to think that Fred needed to be fed with the twins' childhood comfort food, although Fred had confided to George that he was happy enough to eat it. He had realised that it made Molly more relaxed to be doing something. 

Yes, George probably deserved a break, Hermione thought, as she watched him crash onto the double bed and idly flick his wand to remove his boots. He should perhaps have left the pygmy puffs with Molly. Not that they looked as if they needed filling with mashed potato. But, she frowned, what sort of Ministry cock-up had led to this? How had she and George ended up being given the same room, in a hotel that was full to bursting? 

Most importantly of all, how was she going to relax and enjoy the luxury when George kept gazing at her as if she was a pygmy puff herself; the look in his eyes suggesting that he wanted nothing more than to pull her to his chest and keep her there until the portkey took them back to The Burrow on the Sunday...


	3. Hermione/George, The incredible slowness of George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought for a while that this might turn into something more. And maybe one day it will. But I just love writing Hermione/Fred too much at the moment lol.

When George Weasley finally took Hermione’s face in his hands and kissed her, it was maddeningly slow. He leaned in and softly touched her lips with his own, maintaining eye and finger contact for a couple of seconds before pulling his mouth away and stroking one of her cheeks with a broom-roughened but gentle thumb. His brown eyes gazed into hers, becoming unfocused and then closed, as he wove his other hand into her chestnut curls and touched Hermione’s lips again with his own. Just as slowly. 

Desperate for his touch for these long weeks during which they had been watching each other, making eye contact at every Weasley family dinner and observing every mutual blush and smile before shyly looking away rather than moving closer together, Hermione moved her mouth towards him. George compensated by turning his head slightly, slanting his lips against hers in what continued to be the softest kiss she had ever experienced. Their second touch was more sensuous, and it felt to Hermione as if he was relishing every nanosecond of the contact, as his lips slid gently across hers. Still, his movement was languorous; a gentle passing of his mouth across hers, with just the faintest touch of his tongue upon her skin.

Hermione had been summoning her courage to make the first move, but she was glad when George got there first. She had never felt as wanted as she did when George leaned towards her, his face covered in that maddening, adorable smirk that she now knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life kissing off him. 

She had also never felt so aroused from just a few seconds of almost-kissing. Every other man she had been with had leaned in and been much faster to make contact; rushing to demonstrate their passion and show her how much they wanted her, as if speed of snogging was somehow proof of desire. But the tall, redheaded man who was standing between her parted legs as she sat upon his workbench seemed in no hurry. It was as if he thought he had all the time in the world to make love to Hermione’s mouth. Which, she supposed, come to think about it, he probably did. They were alone on a Saturday evening. The shop was closed until Monday. Fred had been abundantly clear that they were being _'left alone until they fucking sorted it out'_ before making good on his threat to lock them in the workroom with a bottle of wine and the comfiest sofa that he could transfigure. The two of them could take their time. 

When George Weasley finally took Hermione's face in his hands and kissed her, his kiss said many things. It said ‘hello’. It said, ‘you’re more than you think you are’. It said, ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough for saving my twin from that bloody wall … it would have ended me as well.’ 

Most of all, it said, ‘I want more of you’.


	4. Hermione/Bill, The cocktail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one which was the result of a Weasleys, Witches and Writers fb group prompt. This time, the prompt was, "Character A just moved to a new city and hasn’t been to a pub yet. The first time s/he decides to, s/he ends up ordering the same drink as Character B at the exact same time."

“A cocktail?” Hermione tried to keep the note of surprise out of her voice as she twisted her body slightly on the bar stool. The barman had just put Bill’s drink down, and it matched her own. Right down to the yellow umbrella. “I thought you’d be more of a pint of beer and a firewhisky chaser sort of wizard.”

“That’s more Charlie’s style,” he joked. “And, when I saw what you were looking at on the menu, I thought it might be nice to keep you company.” 

Bill leaned in, making her breath catch. Hermione had always held a bit of a torch for the eldest Weasley, but until recently the presence of Fleur had put him strictly out of bounds. But now that they had divorced, well perhaps there was a chance. 

“Besides,” he continued, holding her gaze with his deep blue eyes, “you do know what this particular cocktail does, right?”

“No?” 

She decided to withhold the fact that she had ordered it because it looked pretty on the menu. 

And because, having had a long and thankless day trying to sort out regulations, she had decided that she deserved to get pissed quickly. Ergo, buy the cocktail with the rum AND the firewhisky. The twins would be so proud.

Bill smiled. A slow, wicked smile that advanced across his face while his eyes filled with lust.

“Come with me,” he said, reaching for her hand and waiting patiently while she slipped off the bar stool, drink in hand, before leading her to a dark corner which contained a sofa made for snuggling. 

“It’s a magical aphrodisiac,” he whispered, pulling her gently down beside him. Bill lifted his arm in silent invitation, grinning broadly when Hermione leaned close and allowed him to put it around her. He held his cocktail towards her in a toast, feeling himself begin to harden as he saw his words sink in, the realisation fuelling a sexy smile from the witch he had fancied for ages. They clinked glasses, before Bill whispered the line that confirmed to Hermione exactly how she would be spending her night. “I’d like to be the only man within reach when it takes effect…”


	5. Charlie/Hermione; Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for dreamystranger, from a selection of prompts: I chose 'breakfast in bed' and "If I could, I would kiss away all your scars."

“Would you take this to Hermione for me? She’s up in Ginny’s room.”

Charlie turned; surprised. It wasn’t like his mother to encourage her boys to visit witches in their beds. Especially not when the witch's room mate had got up early in order to canoodle in the garden with their lover, he thought, seeing Ginny and Harry out of the corner of his eye as he passed the living room window. But, he supposed, as he walked into the kitchen to take the breakfast tray from his mum, Hermione didn’t exactly have a lover to canoodle with. She and Ron had kissed during the battle, a few days before, and then within hours had realised they were better as friends.

The dragon keeper was secretly thrilled by Molly’s request. He had been an admirer of Hermione’s brains and charm since they had first met. When she was really too young for it to be okay that he had noticed her. Charlie had pushed his feelings down and away, until she was of age. And then, one starry, dark night, he had flown through the wards of the castle, leading the reinforcements on his broom, and his eyes had been drawn her way.

Flicking a rude hand gesture at the twins, who had picked up on the looks he had given her the evening before and made kissing noises as he passed them, Charlie began to climb the stairs. He was levitating a small tray containing a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, a mug of tea and a couple of chocolate biscuits. Charlie knocked on Ginny’s bedroom door and then smiled as Hermione called a greeting and bade her visitor entry.

“Mum sent you some breakfast,” he said simply, waiting patiently as she sat up and then helping her put a pillow on her stretched-out legs before he gently settled the tray on it. 

“Thank you,” she said, and she began to tuck in. Charlie sat on the end of her bed and made conversation while she ate. He told her of dragons, of how the stars looked different on the reserves, of how excited he was to be moving back to Wales to be nearer his family. He told her anything and everything he could think of but, after just a few minutes, he paused. There was one thing he wanted to tell Hermione above all else. And, if he didn’t take this chance, the chance that he suspected his mother had secretly wanted to give him, he didn’t know when he would get another.

“If I could,” he said, looking into her eyes, swallowing once before he finished speaking his thought, “I would kiss away all of your scars.”

Hermione looked at him. Properly looked at him. Her body responded in a way it never had with Ron. She eyed Charlie’s strong arms and chest as she considered his words, and he sat beside her, giving her the time she needed to perform her assessment. Not of him, he knew, but of her own feelings. Of the timing. Of whether they had a chance. For Hermione, Charlie’s physicality was a bonus. She knew other witches saw only his body. She saw them watching. But that wasn’t the attraction for Hermione, although she couldn’t deny that it was a very attractive body, as male bodies went. No, the things that Hermione had always liked most about Charlie were his smile, his kindness to animals, and his wit.

“I think I’d like that.” She smiled, levitated the tray back onto the floor, and patted the space on the bed beside her.

Charlie stood, and as he moved towards her, they both sensed their magic shifting. He sat, they touched, just tentatively at first, and then he reached for Hermione’s mouth with his own. 

A new chapter had begun.


	6. Charlie/OC, The world needs more Hufflepuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hufflepuffs are kind to a fault, but not always the best at acknowledging and meeting their own needs. Which is where Gryffindor dragon tamers come in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, you all need to stop giving me lovely ideas for extensions in the comments on my fics, or Fremione and the Weasleys is never going to be finished! 😆 🥰 
> 
> This one is Flower's fault. At the end of [A bedside conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24335971) (which is a Geomione one shot), she wrote this:
> 
> "Nor did they register when the healer, watching through the door, charmed a soft blanket to cover them both."  
> (Okay, now I am feeling like this healer deserves her own story... *starting a letter*... Dear Charlie, there is someone I would like you to meet...)
> 
> I'd suggest that, if you've not read that one, you read it before reading this 😊 It's a continuation, and picks up the story of what happens outside Fred's hospital room door after his healer leaves...

“You’re a Hufflepuff…”

It was half question, half statement. Greta finished her annotation on the newest piece of parchment to be added to Fred’s medical notes, and signed her name at the bottom. Only then did she look up at the wizard who had been standing outside her patient’s door.

“I am,” she said, a little startled to recognise the eyes that she was looking into. It had been a long time since she had seen those eyes. Not since he had left Hogwarts, a year ahead of her; the triumphant Seeker off to study dragons. “Oh, of course.” Her surprise grew into a smile of understanding as she looked back through the window of the hospital room. A redheaded wizard was asleep and snoring in the bed, while an almost identical man lay on a transfigured couch; his arms wrapped around a smaller witch with brown curly hair which had spread itself out. “They’re your brothers.”

The man nodded. “You were very kind to give them the blanket,” he said. “Thank you. They’ll be knackered.”

“Of course,” Greta replied. “Everyone is.”

The two shared a look and a few moments of silence, in shared understanding. The day had been long, as had the night before it. The battle had seen the loss of many good people but the victory of good overall. Disbelief, grief and euphoria that the war was finally over mixed together for those who had time and space to contemplate. For Greta and the other healers, that time was a luxury they had yet to access.

“How did you know? That I was a Hufflepuff?” Greta knew that he couldn’t possibly have remembered her from school. Star Seekers didn’t tend to notice small, brown-haired, studious girls who would rather curl up on a sofa and philosophise with a friend than party til dawn.

The wizard shrugged. “My best friend at school was a Hufflepuff; she was that kind to everyone too…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I don’t even know if she made it … she and her husband were both badly injured … they were laying in the Great Hall when I last saw them, like Fred, waiting for a healer…”

Greta looked up and down the corridor and then through the window, checking on Fred and his companions one last time before she reached for his brother’s sleeve and began to guide him along. “Okay, come with me. I shouldn’t do this, but I don’t suppose anyone will ever know. Name?”

“Charlie Weasley.”

“No,” she smiled, despite the trauma and her tiredness. “Not your name … your friend’s name.”

“Oh. Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. Though no-one’s allowed to call her Nymphadora.”

“Right. Sit here,” she said kindly, showing Charlie to a soft chair in her office before pointing her wand at a board on the wall. He could see nothing, but it was clear from the way Greta’s eyes and wand were moving that she was reading something; case notes, most likely. “And Remus Lupin?” she asked.

“Her husband.” Charlie prepared himself for the worst, willing his tired body not to cry in front of this pretty witch if the news was bad.

“They’re both fine,” she said, turning to Charlie with a smile. “Here with us for a few days, by the looks of it, but fine.”

Charlie burst into tears of relief. “Fuck,” he said, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve. “Thank the Gods … I was so worried. First Fred, and then … oh Merlin’s pants…” He cursed himself and his inability to hold himself together, reaching for the box of tissues which was standard issue in every healer’s office that he had ever visited.

Greta performed a complicated wand movement in the direction of the board and then shucked off her healer’s robes. She hung them on a hook in the corner of her office and then came to sit on the arm of the chair in which Charlie rested, reaching at first to take one of his large hands into both her smaller ones.

But then she changed her mind. “Oh, bugger it,” she said. “Come here.” She held out her arms and he leaned into them, relaxing as Greta stroked his soft red hair. She pressed his head to her shoulder and leaned her cheek on the top of his head. “Let it out, Charlie,” she said. “It’s been a bit of a day for all of us.”

They sat together for a few minutes; Greta remembering how she and many others had admired the Gryffindor Seeker from afar and thinking about how far she had come in her own journey since she was a shy teenager. Charlie focused on trying to pull himself together so that he could perhaps give some comfort back to the lovely witch who must be just as tired as he was. She had helped save his brother, and brought him the best of news on the longest of days.

And then it came to him. Obvious, really, when he thought about it. It was clear from the time and the fact that she had removed her robes that she had finished here for the day now.

“Have you eaten?” 

Greta shook her head. “But it’s okay. I live here, in the staff quarters. There’ll be something in the communal kitchen fridge,” she said. 

The mention of staff quarters wasn’t lost on Charlie. Only single members of staff lived there; it was an easy, cheap and social accommodation option for those who were on their own and didn’t want to go home to otherwise empty flats. 

“Right,” he said. “You’re coming with me. I need to tell my family about Fred, and my Mum will want to feed you.”

“But…”

“No buts, love,” he said. “You’ve had a long day, and you’re knackered. And you’re a Hufflepuff,” he added, “so I imagine you’ve been looking after everyone else, like you did with George and Hermione and the blanket.”

Greta tipped her head from side to side. She couldn’t deny that.

“I love Hufflepuffs,” Charlie said, his voice lower and sexier than before, and it served to let Greta know that, if she wanted, this was a bit more than a dinner invitation. “The world needs more Hufflepuffs,” he declared. “But Hufflepuffs need Gryffindors.” 

“They do?” This sounded to Greta like it could be the beginning of an interesting conversation.

“Yes.” Charlie sounded very sure, and she rather liked it. She tried very hard not to look at the shape his thighs made in his jeans. “Hufflepuffs take care of everyone else, and it’s our job to take care of the Hufflepuffs. Come on,” he said, more gently this time, and held out his hand. 

Greta put hers in it. “Okay,” she said. “It would be nice to have a home-cooked meal.” And she could answer Molly's questions herself rather than sending an owl, she thought.

“Oh, you’ll get that and more,” he smiled, thinking that perhaps he could suggest they follow the home-cooked meal with a stroll around the garden and a turn in Molly’s swing seat. He liked this witch, very much, and this seemed like the perfect time to get to know someone better. “One request, though,” he said, and Greta looked at him enquiringly.

“What’s that then?”

Charlie grinned. “Don’t mention the cuddling to my Mum. She’ll get really over-excited when she finds out about George and Hermione; I’d like to be out of earshot when she does.”

Greta laughed. “Alright, that's easy. Healer's oath and patient confidentiality and all that,” she grinned.

“Mind you,” he said, leaning in a little to speak into Greta’s ear. “She’s liable to get just as over-excited at me bringing you home … I’ve never taken a witch I liked home before.”

Their eyes met, and a whole conversation was had. Without a single word spoken. Charlie raised his eyebrows, and Greta smiled. He smiled back, and then leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. She reached for his hand, and squeezed it.

“Alright,” she whispered. “Take me to your mother, feed me as promised, and then we’ll negotiate.”

Charlie stepped forward, took Greta into his arms and apparated them into a new story of their own.


	7. Hermione/Bill; Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to a prompt in the Weasleys, Witches and Writers Hump Day Drabble.
> 
> Prompt: “You’re the only one that gets to call me that, you know.”

Forty three seconds.

Hermione had wondered, as she tugged him into the coat cupboard, how long it would take before he was fully hard and his eyes flashed the yellow that signalled his desire.

Forty three seconds. She had counted. While stripping him of his belt, magically opening the front of her dress – designed to be split down the middle with a quick wandless charm and then reseal itself on command – and showing him that she hadn’t felt the need to wear knickers to this particular Weasley party.

“Well, hello Wolfie…”

Hermione’s smile was wide and wicked as she bared Bill Weasley’s manhood with another wave of her wand. She pushed him so that he sat back on the wooden bench, scattering long-abandoned shoes and winter scarves. Her knees either side of him, her small hands reaching out for his shoulders. Greeting the flash of his eyes with a challenging look of her own. The look that she had given him just a few weeks before, when she felt enough time had passed since his divorce papers had arrived for her to make a move without it being crass. One bottle of champagne, two glasses and a request to show her the tree house; that was all it had taken. Well, that, and a few cushioning charms.

Bill growled, but whether in response to the name or to the sensation of her moving over his tip, teasing it with damp, soft curls and velvet lips, she didn’t know. Or care.

“You’re the only one that gets to call me that, you know.”

“I know.” She leaned forward, sinking and pressing him into her, and Bill grabbed her arse cheeks, bringing a moan to her lips as he shifted position slightly.

“You’re a puppy, aren’t you?” she teased, knowing what it did to him when she spoke this way. Her head high; her hair loose; her teasing words fuelling his desire. “You’re not scary, Wolfie, you just want to play…”

It hadn’t been hard to spot, not if you were as observant as she was. After he was bitten, he had changed. Bill had loved Fleur, but love wasn’t enough. Their magic had been incompatible. And he needed a woman who understood, who wasn’t embarrassed of his baser instincts. Who could accept that he was, indeed, more animalistic in his urges and needs. Just not necessarily in the way his wife had wanted.

Hermione rocked and rode him, hard, vowing that this was the last time they would hide their feelings and snatch secret moments at family gatherings; their lovemaking set to the music of the latest Weasley birthday party. Ron’s wedding was next week, and she really didn’t want to go on her own. Bill was going to be her date to the wedding, she had told him, no matter what. And Bill had wholeheartedly agreed.

Even if it meant telling Ginny.

Even if it meant spending all night helping Fred and George perfect their latest potion in order to bribe them to run interference with their mum.

It was time.


	8. Hermione/Fred: Fremione and the Omegaverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this one has a backstory. A friend in a fest group chat made an unwise bet, which I accidentally won. It meant that I got to direct the smut in her fic 😆 Later conversation showed that I'm not really that well educated in the ways of advanced fan fic smut (comparatively speaking) and so I offered to let her pick the theme of a one shot that I would write in return for having toned hers down 😊
> 
> And so she sent me off to learn about and write A/B/O 😆😆
> 
> Well, it turns out that I can't write actual A/B/O as most fans of that genre would want it, but here's my fairyfied, fluffy take on a Fremione A/B/O. To Randi, with love and fairy dust 💜 🥰

Hermione had never seen Fred looking so resigned.

“We’re soulmates, Hermione. The Ministry’s spell was designed to reveal our A/B/O designations and, if we had a soulmate, to pair us together and apparate us somewhere quiet to get to know each other.”

Hermione nodded. That much she had understood. And, if she was honest, it was wonderful that she had been apparated away and into the arms of a wizard she already knew and cared for. A wizard who she already – if secretly – fancied. But it was clear from Fred’s face that he didn’t feel the same way. “Is this a bad thing?” She whispered; not really wanting to hear, especially if he wasn’t attracted to her.

“Not for you, love. You’re the alpha,” he explained. “I’m the omega.”

“What does that mean though, Fred?” 

Hermione sighed. Muggleborn witches were at a distinct disadvantage here. Even more so if they had missed their seventh year of schooling. The Ministry hadn’t been at all clear, and Molly’s talk to the girls the previous evening had been so full of euphemisms and metaphors that Hermione hadn’t been able to make head nor tail of half of it. And in any case, Hermione now realised, it had been based around the assumption that the witches would be betas, like Molly herself, or omegas.

Fred paused. Collected his thoughts. “It means that you get to be the boss in this relationship, love. You get to grow a dick and fuck me whenever you want. I have to accept your words as law and, if you want, I have to have the babies.” He bit his lip and looked up at her, trying to look submissive. No-one had seen this coming. Least of all Fred.

Hermione looked shocked. “But what if I don’t want that?” she asked. “That doesn’t seem fair at all. That’s just as bad as what they do to the house elves!”

Fred smiled for the first time since the pairing spell had been cast and the two of them had been hurled, together, to a corner of the garden so they could ‘discuss their future’. Although he knew that, for some of the couples, the discussion would be a rather physical one. He sat up straighter, feeling a bit of hope. There was no undoing this, he knew, but maybe he would be okay with a witch as compassionate as Hermione.

“What if I want to have the babies?” she asked, this time in a smaller voice.

“You’re in charge, Hermione,” he said. “You can make whatever decisions you like.”

Fred reached for her hand. He patiently explained the basic rules of the omegaverse, relaxing a little as he watched her reactions to his revelations.

“I don’t want any of that,” she said when he had finished, shaking her head. “I want an equal relationship where we don’t make assumptions about who can and should do what just because of their gender or designation.”

Fred nodded. He wanted to hear more, and he indicated as much with the look that he gave her.

“Well,” she continued. “My dad doesn’t always show his emotions; he’s very British like that, but I love that you show emotions, Fred, and I want you to know it’s okay to cry. And I want to have the babies AND be the one who does the DIY. I like putting up shelves,” she said, with a pout that hit him straight in the chest. “I don’t like cooking or cleaning, though.” She paused; considering. “We can both work and then pay someone else to do that. I do like cross stitch, and knitting. I’m not keen on quidditch, and I don’t know if I want to grow a dick…”

Fred’s eyes moved to her hand and he took it gently in his own.

“You don’t have to grow a dick, love,” he said, and then laughed at the absurdity of this statement. He wondered whether Harry and Draco were having the same conversation somewhere. He had spotted Ron and Seamus together and, by the look in Seamus’ eye, Ron was going to very much enjoy his own alpha status. Then Fred wondered how his twin was doing. He had caught sight of George and Angelina being spun into another corner of the garden and he would have bet anything that George was also designated an omega. They were twins, after all, and Fred was the elder. There was little hope of George being an alpha, and Fred could only pray that Angelina would be gentle with him. And that Hermione would persuade the older witch to let him see his twin a lot.

“I’m going to need to do some reading,” Hermione said, and Fred laughed.

“Of course you are.”

After a pause, she had another question. “You said that omegas are the lowest on the hierarchy, but sometimes they’re also prized?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s a bit confusing, I know.”

“It’s a bit rapey, if you ask me,” Hermione exclaimed, and Fred nodded in agreement.

“I can’t disagree with that.”

“Well,” Hermione’s tone was bossy, and it went straight to Fred’s cock. But then Hermione’s bossy tone had always gone straight to Fred’s cock, even before the spell had been cast and he had known of his status. And that the witch he had long admired from afar was his soulmate. He looked up at her from under his long lashes.

“Well?” He spoke softly.

Hermione leaned towards him and stroked his face with her hand.

“I don’t know how you feel about me,” she said, “but I already liked you. I don’t like to think of you as a prize, if that implies ownership, and I don’t know how you feel about me, but I can tell you that I would be very honoured to call you mine. But only if you’ll call me yours and agree that we’re equal. And we’ll do what WE like, Fred, not what traditional designations or gender roles say we should do. We’ll negotiate it together. As equals. Those are my rules.”

“I love it,” Fred said. “And I fancy the arse off you, if you must know.” Hermione laughed, and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “And while I’m quite desperate to push you back on a cushioning charm right now and show you what Draco meant when he told Harry he was going to bottom from the top…” Fred paused, smiling cheekily at his witch, who was gazing lovingly back at him while also starting to remove his shirt. The heat between them was too much, especially in the July sun. “Once we’ve got to know each other better,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans, “I might not mind if you grew a dick once in a while…”

Hermione smiled at her wizard, feeling a warmth grow inside her. “I might not mind that either,” she said. “Let’s get this shirt off and we’ll see how it goes…”


	9. Hermione/Fred/George; The Marriage Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one from a prompt on the Weasleys, Witches and Writers FB group.
> 
> “You weren’t exactly my idea of a spouse.”  
> “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual. But here we are, shackled together just like they want.”

“You weren’t exactly my idea of a spouse.” The witch looked around her while reaching for her wand. 

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual,” her friend grumbled. “But here we are, shackled together just like they want.”

Hermione glared at Ron, waving her wand at the orange and black handcuffs which had fastened her wrist to that of her best friend. They were in a large meadow, along with many of their friends, and it was clear that, while some (notably Dean and Seamus) were delighted at the spell’s pairings, others were not. 

“Just keep still!” Hermione told her friend, crossly. “I told you and Harry this morning that I had a plan!” She peered more closely at the handcuffs, struggling to see in the half-darkness and turning their hands towards the blazing bonfire to get a better look.

“Yeah, Ron, keep still.” A deeper voice. “We’ll get you back to Luna, don’t worry…”

Ron rolled his eyes. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Fred was the first person to appear in a situation like this. With George grinning just as widely, right behind him. Ron wondered how they had managed to be unaffected by the spell and then his question was answered when Fred held up one hand and winked. He had managed to subvert the spell and had been shackled to his twin. Handy, given that they were snogging the same witch.

Fred winked as he whispered the counter charm and released Ron and Hermione from the handcuffs. “Alright,” he said. “You’re a free man. Go and fill your boots while we take our witch to the bar and get her drunk enough to think of ways to take advantage of our partial incapacitation.” He and George held up their joined hands again, grinning at Hermione.

“Alright then boys,” she said, giving Ron a peck on the cheek and putting a hand on each of their waists as she moved towards them. “Well I think we can call the marriage law marshmallow prank a success,” she said, smiling to see that it had caused several interesting conversations to begin. “Let’s turn the music up and enjoy the rest of the party…”


	10. Fred/Hermione & Charlie/OC; The Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fan fic of a fan fic 😆 😊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory: Over the past few months, I proofread the English version of a gorgeous Charlie/OC story called [The keeper of her dragon heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926062), by dreamystranger. ([Es ist auch in deutscher Sprache erhältlich - Der Wärter ihres Drachenherzens.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926158/)) If you haven't read it, do so now; it's lovely! 
> 
> In it, an auror called Sharon became a prisoner of her dragon animagus form when a mission went wrong. Found by strangers, she ends up in the care of our favourite dragon keeper in the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Now, if you don't want a spoiler, you should pause and read that one first! 
> 
> During the story, Charlie feeds dragon Sharon a bear, and he is later mortified when he realises that she is human. When I read the chapter of the original story in which they have a conversation about this, I wrote, "OMG can't you just imagine what Fred and George would say when they later discover that Charlie fed his woman a bear?!"
> 
> With the permission and encouragement of the lovely dreamystranger, here's my take on what might have happened a few weeks later, during Sunday dinner at The Burrow...

"A bear? You fed her a fucking bear?" Fred looked incredulous, and Charlie groaned, knowing from the volume and tone of Fred’s voice that he was just getting going. He should have thought more carefully before telling Bill more of the story of how he and his girlfriend had met within earshot of the twins.

Bill just grinned and chuckled, pulling Fleur onto his lap and making them both comfortable so they could watch this one play out. He had been delighted to see the proof of Charlie’s new love come flying towards him in the shape of Charlie’s patronus a few weeks before, and he and Fleur had been patiently weedling the story out of the loved-up pair over drinks and dinners. The bones of which were that Sharon had been trapped in her animagus form – an opaleye – and taken to the reserve at which Charlie worked. The keeper had cared for her, but it had taken him a while to realise that she was a woman, and not a real dragon.

Fred was finding it hard to get his words out through his laughter. “Let me get this straight, Charlie. You. Fed. Sharon …. a bear. Is that correct?” He made a few gestures with his hands which Charlie supposed to be impressions of a cute little bear. Rolling his eyes, he wondered - and not for the first time - how Hermione coped with Fred. But the little witch seemed to delight in her boyfriend's ever-present sense of humour.

“I fed her loads of other things as well,” Charlie said, a bit defensively. “Chickens, and sheep…” Sadly, no vegetables, he thought ruefully, remembering that they had had to feed her well when she finally returned to her human form. But Fred was the last person who needed to know that.

Just a few feet away, Fred was wiping away tears of mirth. “You poor woman,” he said to Sharon, who was at least taking the elder twin in her stride. She squeezed Charlie’s hand even as she smiled at his younger brother. She might only have been to The Burrow a couple of times, but she had already got the measure of Fred. And she could see that, with Hermione outside, chatting with Ron and Harry, George was the only person in the room who might temper Fred’s enthusiasm for this line of conversation. George, however, showed no sign of being about to step in and assist with calming Fred's enthusiasm for the conversation topic.

“Charlie took excellent care of me,” Sharon said, looking into her man’s eyes and cupping his cheek. She planted a soft kiss on his mouth and then repeated the phrase that she had said to him so many times since the words first left her lips. “You were the best dragon keeper a dragon animagus could have wished for.”

George was still laughing with his twin, but he finally seemed to decide to help Charlie out. Just a bit. "You gave Hermione a duck roll once, Freddie." He poked Fred in the side as a reminder of the elder twin's faux pas in the early days of dating his own girlfriend. "Hermione thinks ducks are too fluffy to eat," George told Sharon. "She went ballistic," he grinned, remembering that Fred had nearly spent the night on the sofa as a result of his mistake.

"Yeah, but that was an accident!" Fred retorted. "And it was wrapped in pastry and everything. I didn't feed her a whole bloody bear, did I, Georgie?" Laughing, Fred turned back to his older brother. "A BEAR, Charlie?” He couldn’t seem to say it enough. “I mean, I suppose it's a bit of a change from Thai...”

Bill couldn’t help but snort at that one.

But Fred was in full flow and barely took a breath. “Was it wrapped in pastry like the duck roll, or did you just put a stick up its bum, like a satay? Better make a note of that next time we order takeaway, Georgie. I'd like a portion of the satay bear, please. And a large special fried rice."

George laughed so hard that some of his tea went up his nose.

"Serves you right," Sharon told him, with a sharp laugh of her own. Charlie wrapped his arm around her. Slyly, she looked at Fred. With perfect timing to make him choke on his own tea, she added, "Would you and Hermione like to come to ours for dinner this week, Fred? I've got a recipe or two that I'd love to try out on you..."


	11. Hermione/Charlie, PWP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the tiniest PWP snippet, written in response to a quick challenge in the Weasleys, Witches and Writers fb group. The remit was: Must be PWP. Must incorporate these 4 words in some way, shape, or form: pink, empowerment, teeth, disobey. I only had ten minutes, so this what happened... 😊

Hermione’s eyes flashed at the redheaded man who she had just pulled behind the broom shed.

“I need you. Now,” she warned, as she freed his cock from his pants.

“Fucking hell, Hermione. Is this what they mean by women’s empowerment?”

“It is.” She was pulling his tee shirt over his head, wanting to be able to look at his chest as they fucked.

He licked his lips and then grinned as he eyed her mouth. Pink. Smiling. Needing to have his tongue plunged into it. But before he could lean forward, she spoke again. A warning tone.

“Don’t disobey me, Charlie Weasley.”

“I won’t,” he said, as he easily lifted the witch up and pressed her against the wooden planks. “Are you ready?”

He grinned again, all teeth and flirty smile as his fingers ensured that she was.

“Get on with it, dragon boy.”

Charlie did; entering her with one stroke, pumping into her as if a dragonlet’s life depended on it and then gasping her name, repeatedly, as they both rode the waves of their passion. Hard and panting, they were all fingers and tongues and filthy words. Hermione rode the dragon keeper, taking every inch of pleasure from their coupling until they both came, hard. And then smiled knowingly at each other before sharing one last kiss and walking off in opposite directions, as if nothing at all had taken place.


	12. Hermione/Fred; Fred accidentally finds a smutty story written by Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Flash Fest, in response to a prompt from LSUsweetie: Fred accidentally finds a smutty story written by Hermione 😆 😊 💜

He hadn’t meant to read it. He’d been looking for the notes he had made on a possible improvement to the range of mistletoe that he and George were planning to bring out at Christmas. It wasn’t Fred’s fault if someone else had happened upon the same batch of slightly green-tinged parchment that had been on offer in a Diagon Alley stationery shop a couple of weeks before. It was an innocent enough mistake and he would have replaced the parchment back behind the sofa cushion right away if his eye and attention hadn’t been caught by a very surprising line or two. Written, if he was not mistaken, in the loopy, careful handwriting of one Hermione J. Granger.

_She lay back, cradled by the pillows as he held himself on one strong arm while stroking her breasts and pussy with the other hand. His head dipped downwards, and she knew that he was going to taste her. She softened, wanting to feel his tongue on her more than anything…_

“Fred Weasley! WHAT do you think you’re doing?!”

“Getting a bit turned on, to be honest, love.” He smiled, and was rewarded by seeing his favourite witch blush. “Interesting bit of writing to leave laying around where anyone could come across it, Hermione.” His eyebrows danced, and Fred delighted in the colour that continued to rise in Hermione’s cheeks.

“I only went to the loo,” she stuttered, trying to reach for the parchment. “I didn’t think anyone else was home…” But Fred held it up, so that she couldn’t reach. “That’s mine, Fred,” she warned, her wand raising dangerously.

“Mmmmm.” He spoke softly, and Hermione paused; unsure about how much he had read and where he was going with this. Did she know that her fantasy was about him? That she had put quill to parchment in the hope that spilling her lust onto the page would help her process the feelings she had developed for the elder Weasley twin? Hermione had been so careful to omit his name, but Fred was one of the cleverest wizards she knew; maybe he would work it out from the details that she had included. Her mentions of his soft brown eyes, the way she wove in the look of mischief that was ever present on his face… 

Hermione’s heart beat a little faster at the thought of him reading the whole thing, and then faster still as Fred’s free arm wrapped around her and pulled her close to his body. The very body that she had been fantasising about all afternoon while alone in the sitting room of The Burrow. She couldn’t help but squeak a little.

“Come here love,” he said, and Hermione looked up at him, feeling very uncertain but also rather turned on. “Would you be interested in trying out some of this stuff for real?” Fred waved the parchment a little and then, when Hermione’s eyes went to it, he moved it to his chest so that he could draw her gaze back to him. Hermione seized the opportunity to grab her story back, and Fred let her; an easy smile on his face.

“I’d rather you read it to me, anyway,” he teased. “But would you?” he asked again.

“Would I like to try this?” She indicated the parchment; playing for time; unsure whether he was flirting or teasing.

“Let me be clearer,” he said, sensing her doubt. Leaning in, Fred’s voice became softer. “Would you, Hermione J. Granger; war heroine, friend of the chosen one and apparently also a soft porn writer of some note…” Fred paused to grin at her response and then, much to Hermione’s shock, gave her hand a quick kiss before he continued. “Would you like to come to my bedroom and read your masterpiece to myself, one Frederick G. Weasley, and have me enact everything you fantasise about?” He stole one more peek at the parchment before he finished, but he leaned in and whispered his next words, lest The Burrow wasn’t quite as empty as he had thought. “Curling my hot tongue over you until you scream and beg me to thrust my hard cock inside you?”

Hermione’s mouth formed a little ‘O’, in shock at the way he had used her own words to proposition her. 

“Well, would you?” His eyes flashed at her. “Because I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you out for a few days now, love, but this,” he indicated the parchment, “well, this sounds much more fun than the dinner and moonlight walk that I was thinking about. How about it?”

Hermione took a deep breath. 

“One condition,” she said.

“Name it.”

She held his gaze. “You never tell anyone about what I wrote. Especially not George.”

“Promise,” he said, and somehow Hermione knew he meant it. He did. Fred wanted more of this, and he understood that the only way he would get it was by keeping that promise. Smiling, Hermione took his hand, towed him to his bedroom and began a lifelong career of putting Fred Weasley’s smart tongue to good use.


	13. Hermione/Fred; Fred takes care of sick Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Flash Fest, in response to a prompt from Teh Kris Eh: Hermione is home sick and Fred takes care of her 💜

George hadn’t seen Fred run into the shop so fast since the day Malfoy’s hair had turned green from a stray colour changing toffee. 

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Just seen Mum and apparently Hermione’s home sick. Can you manage for a bit?”

“Of course,” George grinned. “On one condition,” he added, with a sly look on his face. 

“What?”

“Don’t come home single!”

With a huff, Fred threw a handful of green powder into the fireplace and called, “The Burrow!” He disappeared in a flash.

Seconds later, Hermione groaned at the noise, and braced herself against the possible loudness from the middle Weasley. But Fred surprised her. He approached her sofa quietly and spoke only one word.

“Flu?”

She nodded. Slowly, for her head was beginning to hurt again. Molly had left a bottle of pain potion on the table but it was just out of Hermione’s reach. 

Fred saw where her eyes flitted though. 

“Open up, love,” he whispered, and dropped three drops carefully under her tongue. “Hang on...” Hermione’s pillow was carefully turned before she could lay her head back down. “There,” Fred said. “That should be cooler. I’ll be right back.”

Hermione closed her eyes and it seemed like only seconds before he returned with a cup of tea and a cold flannel.

“Can you sit up for a moment?” Fred waited while Hermione lifted her shoulders up and then slipped his body underneath her, snuggling her upper half into his arms as she settled her head back on the pillow, now in his lap.

“Mmmmmmmmm, that’s lovely.”

Fred was delighted to hear Hermione’s sweet moan when he settled the cool fabric across her brow. 

“Where’s your book? Shall I read to you?”

Hermione even smiled at that. She already felt much better than she had before Fred had turned up.

“What’s this in aid of?” She looked upon at him with the question in her eyes.

“I’m auditioning,” Fred replied.

“For a play about people who are off work sick with the flu?”

“For the position of Mr Hermione Granger. Seemed like a good way to show you what a marvellous boyfriend I would be.” He grinned widely; clearly delighted with his announcement.

“Right,” Hermione said, determined not to show her surprise. Even though she was very surprised. Pleasantly so, though.

“How else could I prove my good intentions to you?” Fred held her gaze. “Would a small kiss be in order?”

Hermione smiled again, and Fred felt a flash of hope. “Aren’t you worried you might get the flu?”

“Oh Merlin, no,” Fred said, leaning forward, ready to capture her lips as soon as he had delivered his punchline. “Georgie will have to give me the whole week off then, and I’m certain that us spending a whole week snuggling on the sofa will be enough to convince you to keep me for life...”


	14. Fred/Hermione; Molly catches them in bed together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick fic, written as part of the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Flash Fest, in response to a prompt from Beccax95: Molly catches Fred and Hermione in bed... 💜

Molly knew there was always a risk in going into the twins’ old bedroom on the Sunday mornings that followed the “bonfire and beer” nights that her kids had begun to host in The Burrow’s garden once the war was over. She and Arthur were more than happy to have them drinking and being rowdy at home rather than out and about, especially given the way that Harry, Ron and Hermione were treated these days. The older Weasleys knew that the younger folk needed to process their experiences, and it wasn’t as if their need to let loose would last forever. Most of them were on the cusp of becoming adults and taking responsibility for themselves anyway, and they deserved some fun. Fred and George always joined them and, while George sometimes stayed at Angelina’s so he could go to her quidditch game, Fred always opted to stay at The Burrow overnight, knowing that his Sunday would then consist of a full English, a fly about and then one of Molly’s massive Sunday lunches. Fred and George also, however, sometimes brought products home, and they weren’t the tidiest of wizards, so their bedroom floor could be a bit of a minefield.

Minefield or not, however, Molly had left a shopping bag full of wool in their bedroom earlier in the week, and she had forgotten about that until she sat down with a cup of tea at 4am (thank you menopause; magic couldn’t do a lot about that) to begin that year’s Christmas sweaters. Knowing that both her twins could sleep through a thunderstorm, she cast a silencing charm and slowly opened the door.

As she entered the room, Molly’s jaw dropped in surprise. Not because of any stray products, but because Fred’s bed was occupied not just by her elder twin, but also by a witch who looked very familiar. And the pair of them looked like they were very familiar with each other. Fred was bare chested and sprawled on his back, his arms cradling Hermione to his chest. Hermione was also naked from the waist up – and possibly from the waist down as well, Molly saw, from the look of the discarded underwear beside the bed, but thankfully a sheet was pulled over their lower halves – and she lay across Fred’s body. Her cheek was pressed to his chest and her hair covered most of the pillow they shared. Their breathing was synchronised, and both looked so content that it made Molly smile to see.

For a second, Molly wondered if this was a one-night thing. She bristled a little at the thought that her son might be taking advantage of her adopted daughter. But then a few memories came to Molly’s mind from the previous weeks. The way that Fred would sit next to Hermione every Sunday dinner. His obvious care for her when Ron had turned up one Saturday evening with Lavender, although Molly had known right away that there was no need for worry on Fred’s part. Hermione and Ron weren’t destined for more than friendship, and whatever had happened between them in early May had been borne of battle-fuelled relief. Molly recalled the way the two had been sharing a log when she and Arthur had popped out to enjoy a glass of wine with the younger folk the previous evening before leaving them to their conversation.

But as she looked around the bedroom, Molly saw signs indicating that this wasn’t a recent development. She hadn’t noticed when she had dumped her wool in the room during the week, but half of one of Fred’s shelves was stacked far more neatly than the rest. As Molly narrowed her eyes, she saw that it held several things that clearly didn’t belong to Fred. And they were too tidily arranged to have been put there by the same pair that clearly couldn’t manage to contain their passion long enough to fold up their clothes when they had tumbled into bed. A basket of women’s underwear, a couple of clean tee shirts, a few toiletries and, most telling of all, a small pile of books which Molly knew Fred wouldn’t be reading. If Hermione had her own shelf in Fred’s half of the room, Molly realised, then they must have been sharing this space on Saturday nights for a while.

Molly gasped with delight, and then managed to catch herself; she didn’t want to wake the sleeping pair. They looked adorable, snuggled up together. Even when sleeping, she now realised, their love for each other was clear in the way they were curled together. Fred had captured one of Hermione’s legs under one of his own, and his fingers curled protectively around her. Molly sighed. She could just imagine what beautiful babies they would make.

Lifting the carrier bag from where she had leant it against George’s empty bed, Molly tiptoed towards the door. She would need to give this some thought. But the kettle was on, she had an abundance of wool and hours to plan what she would say when the pair came down for breakfast. And to fantasise about planning another wedding…


	15. Fred/Hermione: the Veela cousins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Flash Fest, in response to a prompt from Sophh: Hermione, feeling jealous when she sees Fred flirting with Fleur's Veela cousins at Bill and Fleur's wedding, is forced to confront her feelings for him. 💜

“Why won’t you just admit you like him?”

Ginny’s voice wasn’t unkind, but she did have a tendency to go straight to the heart of things. Probably the effect of having six brothers, Hermione thought, as she turned to face her friend.

“Well even if I did like him,” Hermione said, her actions belying her words as she flicked her eyes to Fred’s disappearing back one last time, “it’s not like there would be any point.” She shrugged, but allowed Ginny to pull her to one of the blankets that Molly and Arthur had strewn around the lawn. Ginny had seen Fred and George disappearing into the bushes with a couple of Fleur’s Veela cousins and had immediately gone over to Hermione.

“It’s not what you think,” Ginny said. “And I know that you three are disappearing soon. This could be your last chance to dance with him for a while…”

Hermione didn’t reply. Ginny was right about the second part, and that thought had been on her mind all afternoon. She and Fred had shared several meaningful glances in recent times. Or at least Hermione had thought they were meaningful; now she was not so sure. In the lead-up to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, today had seemed like the perfect opportunity for her and Fred to become closer, but now he had disappeared with another girl, and Hermione just felt sad.

No, not just sad. Jealous, too. Jealous that, no matter how clever she was, and no matter how well she did at school, she didn’t have the allure of some of the witches she knew. And there was no way she could compete with Veelas. Turning to her friend, she finally spilled her feelings to Ginny, who listened, soothed and then, to Hermione’s horror, called the best man over to join them.

“What do you need, Gin-bug?” Charlie asked.

“We need you to get us something good from the bar, without Mum seeing. But, before you go, tell Hermione how pretty she is, please.”

Charlie turned to Hermione, who immediately began to protest.

“I don’t…” she began, but Charlie hushed her by placing his hand on her own.

“You're gorgeous, inside and out, Hermione,” he said, flicking his wand in the direction of the bar and summoning a couple of bottles of a colourful drink for the two witches. “But you shouldn’t need me to tell you that, love. And don’t let what you think of yourself depend on what any man thinks. Although,” he winked at the young witch, “I learned recently that I have a brother who would gladly tell you that once a day until you no longer needed to hear it.” Charlie looked around him but, when he didn’t see the brother in question, he shrugged and turned back to face his sister and her friend.

“Ron and I are just friends,” she said. Hermione was tired of explaining this to people. 

“I didn’t mean Ron,” Charlie said, taking a sip of his own beer. Then, after sharing a look with Ginny, he went for it. “I meant Fred.”

Hermione huffed. “Fred who is in the bushes snogging one of Fleur’s cousins?” she asked, a little sarcastically. Her face showed hurt when Charlie snorted, but, upon seeing her expression, he immediately apologised.

“Sorry, love, but for such a clever witch, you’re not on the money with that one. Fred and George aren’t hiding out snogging those witches. They’re trying to do a deal to get their products into Beauxbatons. Fleur’s cousins are among the most popular girls, so the twins are offering them a percentage to take some samples and mail order forms back.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open, making Charlie and Ginny both laugh. Before she could say anything, the twins and the two Veela women emerged from the bushes, all handshakes and smiles. When Fred’s gaze fell on Hermione and his eyes lit up, she felt as if one of his fireworks might have been set off inside her tummy.

“Shall we see if George and his new colleagues want to come to the bar with us, Gin?” Charlie asked, and his sister gave the dragon keeper her hand, wanting him to pull her up from the grass.

“We shall,” she said, and the pair headed towards their brothers and the Veela women.

When Charlie nearer Fred, he only had three words for him. “Go get her.” Skilfully, Charlie inserted himself into the conversation, freeing Fred to head towards Hermione on the blanket. They were both blushing a little as he neared, and then both spoke at the same time.

“Would you like to sit with me?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

In the end, they did both. Fred sat with Hermione for a while, letting out a loud laugh as Charlie sent two more drinks back from the bar for them, along with a plate of snacks. Then, as the music got a little louder, Fred offered Hermione his hand and the pair danced their first dance together.

And then another. And another. Slower and closer, as the evening wore on.

Hermione and Fred danced until a patronus came and took them in different directions. But the memory of that afternoon and evening kept them going through the months ahead. It kept Fred warm as he worked with George and Lee on Potterwatch. It kept Hermione sane as she hunted horcruxes, stole dragons and faced Bellatrix’ wand. The memory of feeling Hermione in his arms was what kept Fred fighting for life as a wall fell on him near the end. And the memory of that night and the hope that she held for the future made the protego charm that saved him fly out of Hermione’s wand almost before she saw the first stones crumbling. 

A few years later, as she cradled their first just-born baby in her arms, watching the dawn break through their living room window and wiping Fred’s tears with a loving hand, Hermione thought about those Veela cousins. As she held her baby to her breast, she supposed that she ought to ask Fleur to bring her cousins over one day. Just so she could say thank you.


	16. Fred/Hermione: Sharing the Marmalade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is becoming a daily habit now! 
> 
> Another ficlet written during the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Flash Fest, this time in response to a prompt from DisneyKid.
> 
> An “I love you” confession without expecting an answer. 💜

Dear Hermione,

I’ve asked Ginny to leave this in your bed because I don’t want you to feel like you need to reply. She thinks it’s an apology for my behaviour today, which it sort of is really, and I’ll never tell her any more than that.

I’m sorry I embarrassed you today. You were only doing your job as a prefect, I know, and you had every right to ask me to stop throwing fireworks out of the common room window. You were right: it was disruptive and Minnie and Mum would both have told me off for it. You were also correct in saying that “it’s a Friday evening” is not an excuse for behaving like a muppet. I shouldn’t have grabbed you and twirled you around when you were telling me off. I shouldn’t have kissed your cheek before I put you down, and I certainly shouldn’t have whispered in your ear that I was delighted to have made you blush. I apologise, and I promise I won’t do any of those things without permission again.

The trouble is, I get so excited when you’re near me. I actually love it when you tell me off and we have a bit of back-and-forth, and I find it hard to contain my exuberance. (Are you impressed that I know long words too?!) Georgie reins me in a lot normally. He tells me that I’m not going about getting your attention in the right way. He’s probably right. And I do listen to him. But now he and Angie are off snogging at every opportunity… well, I’m not saying it’s a good excuse but I just wanted to explain.

You see, I really, REALLY like you. Probably more than like you, if I’m honest. I’ve felt that way for a while. And I don’t know what to do with those feelings. I don’t know whether to tell you (what with everything you already have to think about, like keeping Harry safe and all, and keeping Ron under control too, which goodness knows is a full-time job, just ask my mum) or to keep my feelings to myself. But I think I need to tell you, because otherwise they might keep bursting out of me, like they did today. And I’ve decided that this is the only way I can do it without putting you on the spot and making you feel like you have to give me an answer.

I’d love to be yours. I’d love to call you mine. I’d love to get to know you better, and to have a witch of my own to snog in corners and cuddle in front of the fire. But I don’t want just any witch, Hermione. You’re the witch I want in my arms. I want it to be you who I fly up to in the stands to kiss when we’ve done well at quidditch. I want you to be proud of me and to see our products and our dreams as more than just silly pranks. Georgie and I are going to do really well one day, Hermione, I promise. I want to make you proud of me. I want to share stuff with you and tell you about my dreams and hear about what yours are.

So I’m going to give this to Ginny to put on your bed and leave it up to you to decide what you do with this new knowledge. You seem to like reading things and having time to think about them rather than hearing them, so I thought this might work for you. But no pressure, I promise. 

Tomorrow morning, I’m going to get to breakfast early, and I will wait til you come down (or not). I know you can tell the difference between me and George (or, as you would say, George and I) so that won’t be a problem. If you’re not interested, then just sit with someone else. I won’t make a scene. I’ll say hello like a normal person (oh Mum would be SO proud!), and I promise I won’t embarrass you in any way. If you go and sit by someone else, then I’ll have my answer and I promise I’ll move on and I won’t bother you again. 

But if you’re even a bit interested in talking about being more than friends, please come and sit with me. We can just chat a bit. I’d love it if you would come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow. Especially if you would let me hold your hand on the way. (That should show Malfoy and his tosspot mates.) We can have butterbeer together and I can buy you chocolate or sugar quills. Maybe I can chat you into coming into Zonkos, but either way I’ll just be happy to be with you. 

I know there’s a chance you might think this is a joke. It’s not. I don’t know how to prove that, except to point out that all you would have to do is show this letter to my mum and she will exact more revenge on your behalf than you could ever manage yourself. Which, obviously, is saying something. But you won’t need to do that. 

What I actually want to say is that I think I love you, Hermione. I’m not asking you for anything. If you’re not interested in getting to know me better, you could even get Ginny to bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow and I swear I will steer clear of you and never mention my feelings for you again.

But I really hope that you’ll join me for breakfast. I’ll save you some toast. The bits that aren’t very well done; I know you like those the best.

Yours in hope of sharing the marmalade, tomorrow and for as long as you’ll have me,

Fred Weasley


	17. Hermione/Fred: Sharing the Marmalade (part two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for omnenomnom 🥰 And for everyone who wanted to know how Hermione would respond to Fred's letter, in the previous scene in this series 😊 💜

Dear Fred,

I hope you and George and your other roommates have got your window open. I thought about going to the owlery to send this but (a) I might get caught out past curfew (and we’re not all as blasé about adding that sort of misdemeanour to our records as you are) and (b) I don’t know if any of the owls would be agreeable to delivering this to you tonight and not at breakfast time, and that would be too late to make it worth the risk of being seen by Mr Filch. So I have used a fancy folding and mailing charm that I read about in a book in the library and I just have to hope that it will serve to get this letter to your bed. Sorry about it repeatedly hitting you in the forehead until it gets your attention, but I’m worried that you might not notice it otherwise.

Thank you for your lovely letter. It didn’t even cross my mind that it could be a prank, and not only because I know you know that I would owl your mother if it wasn’t. But, if I’m honest, I may have been hoping for some sort of sign from you for a while. I couldn’t help but notice the way you look over at me when I’m doing my (or Ron and Harry’s) homework, and I’ve noticed how George pokes you when you look over at me for too long, but mainly that’s because I’ve been secretly looking at you too. I will confess that I also enjoy our “back and forth”, as you call it. But I rather like the idea of being on the same team with you.

Anyway, all of which is to say that I think you’re rather special, Fred Weasley, and I’d love to have breakfast with you in the morning. I’d be delighted to call you mine and to let you call me yours and to be the witch you fly up to and kiss in quidditch games. That bit sounds rather fun, actually, but please don’t make too much of a scene at first. Going to Hogsmeade together tomorrow sounds lovely too. I need to get a couple of books, but I’m sure that won’t surprise you. I’m happy to come to Zonkos; it’s only fair, and I do secretly enjoy studying the layered charms in some of the prank products. Keep that to yourself and one day I might even be your and George’s secret weapon!

Snogging in corners will be by negotiation. I am a prefect after all, but the upside of that is that I have permission to be out late and I know where all the secret kissing zones are. I’m confident that, if we combine my prefect privileges with your prankster wiles, we can find spaces where we can spend time together away from impressionable eyes. 

For the record, I’m already proud of you and everything that you and George create. I might not approve of you testing some of your products on first years, because I think there are ethical issues that you don’t always take into consideration, but I think the things you make are wonderful. I have no doubt that you and George will create something wildly successful and I and your whole family will be even more proud of you than we already are. My real concern last night wasn’t your fireworks per se. I was worried that others who are not as skilful as you and George might think it was okay to try the same. Honestly, if you saw Seamus’ efforts in class, I think you’d share my concern.

Well, it’s getting late, and I’m hoping to send this before you get to sleep rather than having the charm give you a rude awakening. I’ve set my wand for early, and I’ll be ready for breakfast as soon as the hall doors open too. (I did think for a moment about coming down later and going to sit next to George and giving him a kiss on the cheek, just to see how you’d react. I feel that I might perhaps need to start engaging in some tomfoolery of my own, but I will save that for another day. It must have taken some nerve to send me that letter. Thank you for taking the risk.)

So how about I meet you in the common room at ten to seven? That way, we could walk to breakfast together? I’ll bring some of the rhubarb and ginger jam that my mum and I made in the holidays. In my view, it’s even better than the school marmalade. I’d love to share both with you for as long as you’ll have me too.

Love from Hermione x


	18. Fred/Hermione: seven minutes and an office surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going with the Fremione Fanatics Spring Scenes Smut Fest. I had no idea I'd be writing at the rate of a fic a day, but here we are 😆 😊 This is for Jade, who prompted: "Fred and Hermione have been together for a few years now and he surprises her at her office in the Ministry. Smutty office sex ensues."

“Hello love.”

Hermione looked up from her paperwork, smiled and stretched her body, which had become cramped from lack of movement. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” she said, her smile widening as her husband of three and a half years strode across her office and leaned down to give her the sort of kiss that he usually saved for after they got back from the Leaky on Friday evenings.

“Mmmmm,” she said, when they finally came up for air. She watched Fred close and lock the door and add a silencing spell as she spoke. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got six minutes before George finishes chatting up Oliver and comes to pick me up for an important meeting, and I have wanted you all morning...”

Fred stood before her and, without further conversation, stripped off his robes and the tee shirt that he wore underneath them. Then he reached for his belt, knowing what that would do to his wife. But his eyes remained on Hermione.

“Wanted to give you a surprise treat, love,” he said, and then, without further warning, he advanced on her, the broom-shaped wand gently moving in his hand. Before she knew what was happening, Hermione’s office chair had been tilted back and raised up higher than usual. She squeaked a little, partly in surprise and partly at the realisation that her husband had dropped to his knees and his face was now between her legs.

“Five and a half,” he said. “No time to waste.” 

He wasn’t lying. Hermione’s knickers were quickly slipped down her legs, making her thankful for the warm weather which meant she was otherwise only wearing a summer dress and sandals, which she liked to toe off and leave under her desk when she was doing paperwork. And then Fred’s mouth was on her pussy; parting her curls. One long finger began tapping her clit as his tongue kissed and licked her in just the way she liked; making her head tip back. A moan slipped from her lips.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he encouraged. “Relax and enjoy…”

As Fred continued to tongue her pussy, he slipped both hands under her arse, pulling Hermione lower in the chair and making her squeal a little. She loved when he held her arse cheeks in his naughty, potion-stained hands, no matter whether it was because he wanted to help her move when she was grinding on top of him or in order to bring her pussy into a better position for him to worship with his lips, as he was doing now.

“Spread your legs more for me, love. No-one’s going to see. Although I know you’d like it if they did…”

He dived back in, letting his words turn her on more. They both enjoyed sharing their fantasies in the dark of night; even the ones that they didn’t want to enact in reality. Fred knew Hermione got turned on by the thought of being seen by others, even though she had – thus far – resisted any offer to make that a reality. It didn’t worry Fred. He was just delighted to have snagged the witch he had been in love with since the Yule Ball, and was making a career out of giving her all the love she deserved. They had decades to explore more, if that was what they both wanted.

Hermione squeaked again as Fred paused momentarily and breathed onto her tender flesh.

“Good?” he asked.

“Fuck, yes. What’s your meeting?” she enquired.

“Never you mind about that right now, love,” he said. “I’ll tell you later. Just feel, Hermione.”

Those were words he had spoken many times. Hermione had helped him to grow into the responsibility of being a business owner, and Fred in turn had helped her shed her overdeveloped sense of responsibility; encouraging her to relax and feel. 

He had been amply rewarded for his patience. They both had. But today, Fred didn’t have time for a long, luxurious lovemaking session. He smiled into Hermione’s pussy and pulled one of his large hands from under her, giving her arse cheek a gentle squeeze with the other. Two long fingers slipped inside her and he gently moved them back and forth as he increased the pressure from his tongue.

“Fuck, Fred.”

Fred liked it when Hermione became monosyllabic. It indicated that she had moved into a different zone. Departmental Head Granger used long words. The Hermione that only Fred knew could be reduced to a woman who laid back and uttered no more than brief snippets in response to the ministrations of his tongue, fingers and cock.

She uttered more of those as he continued to increase the pace and pressure. They were probably down to three minutes now, he thought, but he wasn’t going to mention that. Time pressure never helped his wife to orgasm, so Fred kept his words to himself and instead let out the hums and groans that he knew Hermione loved to feel against her soft, wet skin.

“I’m so close,” she said, as the feel of Fred’s licking, stroking, twirling tongue worked in tandem with the movement of his long fingers which were pressing on her from inside. “Gonna come on you,”

“Do,” he said. “You know I love that.” Gods, he loved this witch so much; would give her permission to do almost anything she wanted. And having Hermione come in his mouth was hardly a chore. Fred slipped his other hand from her arse and began to rub his cock, knowing that he was already less than a minute away from his own pleasure.

“You can fuck me,” Hermione said.

“Is that what you’d like?” he asked, mouth still full of her pussy. He began sucking on Hermione’s clit as soon as he had spoken, and her head fell back onto the top of her chair.

“Yes.”

“Come for me then, love.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Pushing her hips forward very slightly, she took her pleasure in her husband’s mouth, letting out a long, loud “oooooh” as she did. Then she began to giggle a bit, which was one of the things about making love to Hermione that Fred loved the most. He grinned, making sure that her orgasm had reached its conclusion before withdrawing his tongue, pulling his face away, wiping his mouth briefly with the back of his hand and then standing up.

“You’re gorgeous, Fred Weasley.”

“So I’m told by my lovely wife,” he replied, and then he simply continued to grin at her while he took a step forward and sheathed his hard cock inside her. His hands resumed their position under her arse and Hermione breathed into his ear as she looked up at her office clock.

“Two minutes,” she told him, as he began to rock into her.

“With a wife as sexy as you,” he replied, his eyebrows already knotting from his pleasure, “I’ll only need one.”

Fred was right. He loved the turn-on and the pressure of a quickie and barely a minute had passed before he was spilling into Hermione; groaning his pleasure; smattering his wife’s face with kisses and telling her how much he loved her. The clock’s ticks seemed to become louder, as if in testament to the couple’s increasing speed.

In reality, the sound was coming from outside Hermione’s office door. It was George Weasley’s idea of an early warning system, conjured from his wand. 

His voice followed.

“I’ll be breaking through Fred’s third-year locking charm in thirty seconds. Better get your knickers back on, Hermione. We don’t want a repeat of last Christmas eve, do we?”

“Honestly!” Hermione called. Fred tried to suppress a laugh at the memory and Hermione huffed, trying and failing to look cross. She had learned early in her relationship with Fred that any partner of one Weasley twin needed to accept their loud, joking relationship with each other and with those they loved or move on to a wizard who might be less embarrassing but who would never bring the same kind of joy and excitement to her world. Moving on was something Hermione had never considered. Instead, she reached for her knickers and braced herself for George’s arrival.

Within seconds of her clothes being back on, there was a knock on Hermione’s office door, which then immediately opened. Fred was still fastening his belt buckle, but didn’t seem to be in a hurry. In fact, Hermione thought, he almost seemed proud of the picture he created. 

“Un-be-fucking-lievable,” George laughed, as installed himself in Hermione’s visitors’ chair and helped himself to two of the muggle sweets that she kept in a dish on her desk. One day, she reminded herself, she would replace them with prank sweets of her own. Maybe something that stops one talking for an hour. That would teach her sweet-stealing brother-in-law. “I swear,” he said, oblivious to her plans, “if you two only had ten seconds you’d manage to get it on. And get off.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Can we help you, George?” Hermione asked sweetly. She loved him dearly, and secretly really enjoyed the banter they shared. He loved to pretend that Hermione was a sex-crazed witch intent on stealing his twin and business partner away at every opportunity. Hermione, in turn, found it funny to tease George about being ‘all work and no play’, which both the twins found hilarious.

“I just need my twin back,” he said. “Important meeting with the department of red tape, or something like that. You’ve enjoyed his love sausage, now I need his charm.”

With a shared laugh, a quick kiss and a promise from Fred that he would bring home something nice for dinner, the wizards were gone. Hermione looked back at her paperwork and then at the clock. Seven and a half minutes had passed since she had put her pencil down.

Life being married to a Weasley twin was never going to be boring.


End file.
